yet another irish writer

“Remarkable Rocks” by Simon Webster (published by Visual Verse)

There’s this guy who can’t read nor write none. He’s a big guy and it must take a lot of cheeseburgers to fill him. He don’t talk much neither. They say he had this bad life back when he was a young buck. A bad life so bad nobody goes into any great detail about it much. When he was grown he noticed his teeth were tough and hard like a row of them iron prison keys and his jaw was as strong as a car crusher. He ended up having nobody to shoot the breeze with or to talk sports to or no nobody to hug on New Year’s Eve coz that’s what happens when the start in life is bad.

He picked up this fondness for wandering about since nobody had the heart to put him in a cage on account of him having had such a bad life. He took a keen liking to places of natural beauty with boulders there. They say when he was grown he started this quirk of taking greedy bites out of them big rocks, spitting out pebbles. They say at night his mouth takes great chunks from the rock and shouts out some nonsense nobody can construe coz it isn’t from any known language spoken anywhere. Accusatorical bombastications from some innocent outcrop he’s turned into a pulpit just by standing himself on it. Slick Nick says it all stems from his school and before the truth could come out it was razed to the ground. But I don’t know how reliable Nick is. He’s always quick to put the boot into educational facilities.

Problem is these are places of natural beauty. And some people have fine memories of climbing them boulders when they were real small. Nobody has the heart to put him in a cage but pretty quick from the get-go people hear all his hollering and see the wreckage coz these places of natural beauty have towns nearby. A decision was made to get him far away, the other side of the world so he could do what he needed to do way over there and not hurt anyone. An island off Australia was picked. But pretty soon he made a nuisance of himself there too. Seems there are people living everywhere. There ain’t nowhere far enough away from people except maybe the Moon. They say his life was so bad all this shouting and rock crunching at night is the only thing keeping him sane during the day. He’s a really nice fellah during the day and he sings the old songs in a normal language you can understand. He keeps himself to himself during the day, I like that. There’s too much poking about in other people’s business. He sleeps then too and doesn’t snore loud.

But we gotta do something about him. We gotta do something. At night he’s driving me nuts. And my boy, my boy, he’s asking me what all the damn shouting’s about.